


One of us

by Lyrae



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Fae & Fairies, Fairies, Jim-centric, Kid Jim, M/M, POV Jim Moriarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23325610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrae/pseuds/Lyrae
Summary: As long as he could remember, Jim Moriarty had never been alone.Even as he stood on that rooftop, the faeries were here,  flying, giggling, whispering sweet nothing into his ears."What am I? " he had asked them thorough his life.They had answered differently every time but their words had always amounted to the same thing:"One of us. "
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	One of us

The faeries had always been there, and Jim had always been able to see them. 

Even in his earliest memories, where he couldn't move and everything was fuzzy, he could still remember them flying around, colourful and vibrant, dancing, singing, cooing at him. 

Even as he grew up and learned to talk, walk and think, the mischievous beings stayed at his side, keeping him company when no one else was. 

His mother had died giving birth to him, too weak for the strenuous ordeal, and so he had been left alone with his father, a towering man made of furious gestures and hateful comments. 

"Faeries' child." his father had always called him "Changeling. " he would sometimes add in a burst of superstitious faith, seething and menacing. 

Ever since he had been a child, Jim remembered being called that way, remembered the way the man spewed the words like a slur, alcohol-fueled hatred burning in his eyes, remembered the way the faeries had laughed every time the names fell off his lips. 

Their laugh was a strange thing, melodious and yet dissonant, like the sounds made by windchimes caught in a tempest. 

"You amuse them. " he had remarked to his father one day, after the other had threatened to beat the changeling out of him in order to get back his true, human son. 

"Them? " he had asked, and Jim had tilted his head to the side, wondering just how blind the man had to be in order to miss the beings lazily flying around them. 

"The faeries. " 

The fist had violently connected with his face and he had staggered, the blurry forms of his friends frantically moving above his head. 

"You're insane." his father had hissed, hauling him to his feet before throwing him outside, not caring whether or not the child was alright. 

_Insane_. 

It had been the first time he had heard the word, and at this time he hadn't known what it meant but it had left a bitter taste on his tongue. 

"Everything will be fine. " the faes had chanted, laughing and dancing as they led him deeper into the woods. 

After what had seemed to be an eternity, they had stopped in front of a group of mushrooms forming a circle and they had smiled before flying inside. 

"Come with us, you will be safe here. " they had sang, their voices mixing and intertwining until there was no way tell them apart. 

Jim had been young, he couldn't exactly recall his age but he had been small and frail, almost mirroring the faeries in size, so he had obeyed, lying in the center of the ring, curling up on himself in an effort to find an hint of warmth. 

His friends had settled with him, whispering sweet stories and awe-inspiring legends about their homeland until he had forgotten about the cold, his eyes slipping closed. 

"What am I? " he had asked, already feeling sleep grasp his mind. 

The faeries had smiled, that strange shark-like grin of their, the trademark expression slicing their delicates face in half. 

"One of us. " they had answered all and it was the only answer he had been given that day. 

Jim had frowned slightly, wondering what they meant, but he hadn't been able to resist the call of his body any longer. 

It had been the first time he had slept in the woods but it certainly wouldn't be the last. 

\---------

After that day, the child often left on his own, slipping out of his window when his father hadn't been the one to throw him out himself. 

He would take his old blanket, an apple and a sketchbook, walking until he reached the familiar clearing, always alone and yet never lonely, the faeries flying at his side, offering songs and sharp comments. 

Once the child was deep into the forest, he would lay inside the mushroom ring, on the soft blanket made by the fallen leaves, and draw, reproducing what the beings told him in their stories. 

Flawless cities of shimmering splendor, stretching under the earth far away from human reach, weeping banshees lamenting with veiled faces and faerie queens, ethereal and insubstantial, looking down on the rest of the world from their golden thrones. 

Jim would steal paint from the school, using the fact that the teacher always seemed to look right through him to his advantage when they were in art class. 

The woman never saw anything, just like she never saw how he doodled mythical creatures in the corners of his textbook after finishing all of the schoolwork hours before the others. 

No one ever seemed to notice him, small and quiet, blending with the background like a nice potted plant would have, who would ever see James Moriarty when there were children like Carl Powers in the same class? 

The boy was everything Jim was not, tall, loud and athletic, winning everyone over with his broad grin and clear blue eyes. 

Everyday after school, the smaller would immediately slip into the forest, chatting earnestly with his friends. 

Carl Powers hadn't been supposed to hear him talk to thin air and follow him to the mushroom ring. 

"Who are you talking to freak? Got imaginary best friends? " he had sneered after he had reached the clearing, tearing the sketchbook out of his hands. 

Jim had stayed silent, trying to ignore the faes currently cursing the boy's ancestors back to several generations. 

"What, the 'faes' got your tongue Jimmy? " 

Carl Powers had ripped out pages after pages, carefully shredding the sketches until the only thing left of the painted paper were colourful confetti. 

"You're insane freak. " he had said in that grating, taunting voice of his, and Jim stayed still, the faeries howling inside his head. 

_Insane_. 

Carl Powers died for that insult, drowning into London's pool in front of all of the schools competing in the tournament. 

But even then, the word wouldn't stop repeating inside his head. 

_Insane_. 

He knew what it meant now, he had read all of the books he had found about mental illnesses in the town's library, and he couldn't help but think he might just be another delusional boy, inventing friends for himself when society didn't provide any. 

"What am I? " he had asked the faeries, hiding Carl's shoes beneath a loose floorboard. 

The creatures had moved like one, tilting their heads to the side, scrutinizing him with their jewels eyes. 

"A changeling, a faerie hidden amongst the humans, taking their form, concealing his wings, living, breathing, existing like they do until you are unrecognisable from them. "

_'You look like them but you're not. ' they had meant, and Jim had accepted the explanation with a slight smile._

"One day you'll find someone just like you." they had added, and that simple sentence had titled the world's axis. 

_Hidden and hiding, special like you, special like us_. 

James Moriarty never drew again after Carl had destroyed his sketchbook. 

Why should he bother representing it when everything was already in his head? 

Why should he bother when the only person that would ever matter would be like him, would see the faes and hear their stories? 

\---------

Jim grew, older, sharper, but the faeries never left his side, filling his mind with endless tales and mythical creatures. 

After Carl's murder, things didn't change much, he stayed invisible, in the back of the classroom, finished his studies and then got completely off the grid. 

Sometimes he wondered if studying maths wouldn't have made him happier, but he knew that he would have been just as bored there as he was everywhere, so he left, quietly disappearing. 

His father's death and the subsequent gain of his inheritance was purely coincidental of course. 

Jim travelled the world, moving from one place to another, hoping he would find that one person, his reflection, the other side of his coin. 

Somehow he fell into the criminal world. 

At first, it was only for the money, he did need it to live after all, but there was something fun about planning a heist or a murder, holding people's lives and making them dance like broken puppets. 

The faes laughed every time he successfully scheme, soaring around him in delight, appreciating the mischief and the entropy he brought. 

"What am I? " the most dangerous mind in the world had asked one day as he was lounging in his current flat. 

They had giggled, the sounds overlapping endlessly, permeating the air. 

"The son of the faerie Queen, birthed after she had taken a human form to ensure you would be healthy. One day you will be called back to your kingdom and you, my Prince, will be welcomed by all of the faes. "

James Moriarty, consulting criminal, had smiled, a name catching his eyes as he read a file about his last operation. 

_Sherlock Holmes._

\---------

"You're insane. " Mycroft Holmes had coldly said, the words falling off his icy lips like poison from a serpent's fangs. 

_Insane_. 

Jim laughed, his chuckles echoed by the faeries. 

After discovering Sherlock Holmes, the criminal had quickly gotten obsessed, his every waking moments haunted by the dark-haired man until he had needed to act, unable to stay hidden anymore. 

It had to be him. 

It _had_ to. 

He had asked the faes to hide and he had met the detective in St Bart's lab, relishing in the way he was completely looked over, leaving his number under a platter knowing it would remain unused. 

They were alike after all, Jim would have done the same so he knew how the other would act. 

The pool had been different, better perhaps... 

The faeries had hidden themselves in his carefully slicked back hair, delicate fireflies in the dimness of the pool, chlorinated water casting an eerie glow on their features. 

John Watson hadn't seen anything, of course he hadn't, and Sherlock Holmes had acted. 

Acted like he didn't notice anything, acting like he cared about his friend, actedactedacted and even Jim wouldn't have been fooled if he hadn't known better, if he hadn't known the other was like him. 

Alas, that meeting had come to a price, a cost that he was paying now in the bowels of the British government. 

Mycroft Holmes, smart and yet so inhibited, so restrained that the criminal had trouble understanding he and Sherlock were related. 

The Ice Man didn't understand, didn't know, didn't _SEE_. 

The faes laughed and Jim did too. 

\---------

"What am I? "

James Moriarty, Richard Brook, criminal, actor, guilty, innocent-

 _Insane_?

The creatures stayed silent for an instant before answering. 

"A misplaced soul placed in the body of a human child when it should have been a faerie, given a cumbersome body instead of an ethereal form, awkward limbs in the stead of diaphanous wings. "

Jim smiled, ruffled his hair and opened the door. 

"Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal... "

Sherlock gaped, with eyes widening in shock, and the faes laughed, the sound clear like a bell. 

The detective didn't hear them, but he would. 

_Soon_. 

\---------

Sherlock was the one to invite him to St Bart's rooftop, and yet, Jim couldn't have chosen a better location. 

"Staying alive... So boring isn't it? "

In his left pocket, the gun seemed to weight more than an entire world. 

He wasn't sure why he had taken it, he knew the detective wouldn't try to kill him, that would be too plebeian for them, and yet, he had felt the need, the urge to shove it into his coat. 

They spoke, danced around each other like they always did, the faes flying around them, calling out Sherlock's name. 

The other still ignored them though, keeping his eyes firmly focused on the criminal until-

"For me, pleeeeeeaaaaaaase-" high pitched falsetto, half singing, half speaking, James Moriarty grinned and the faeries laughed, not bothering to hide anymore. 

"You're insane! " Sherlock hissed and the words hit him like a bullet. 

_Insane._

_That was what his father had yelled, what Carl Powers had jeered, what the Ice Man had coldly remarked._

_Insane_. 

"You're just getting that now? " he asked, more to himself than to anyone else. 

Sherlock Holmes couldn't see the faes, the only man to ever get to him, the only person to ever come close to understanding, the only mind to ever resemble his like two rain drops falling from the same cloud... 

If he couldn't see the faeries, then what did it mean? 

_Insane_. 

Somehow he still managed to speak, taunting, threatening, a part of him controlling his actions while the rest of his mind was on complete lockdown, trying to make sense of the new informations. 

_Insane._

The faes had lied, of course they had, it was all in his head after all, wasn't it? 

For the first time in forever, the faeries were silent, quiet, and the detective's blue eyes were all he could see.

"Sherlock Holmes. " the name left his lips and it drifted into nothingness, unechoed by the creatures.

When he held out his hand, the other took it, the cold fingers closing over his. 

"Thank you." 

The usually lively creatures were almost immobile, their shimmering wings only flapping every now and then, observing, waiting. 

"Bless you."

He smiled widely, genuinely, enjoying the look of slight confusion on Sherlock's face. 

The detective didn't understand, of course he didn't, he couldn't see them like Jim did after all, but that didn't matter anymore. 

Nothing did. 

"As long as I'm alive, you can save save your friends, you've got a way out... "

And here it was, the faeries' characteristic mischief, the dark eyes glinting like he was planning on pulling the greatest trick of them all. 

_What am I?_

"Well good luck with that. "

The gun fired, James Moriarty died and yet... 

Diaphanous fingers closed over his soul before it could escape into the cold London air, grasping, clutching. 

_"One of us"_ he could hear from every direction, chanting, repeating the three words like a mantra. 

He remembered when he was a child, when the forest had seemed endless and the creatures had been his only company. 

_"What am I?_ " he had asked. 

_"One of us"_ the faeries sang, soaring around him like colourful bugs, grinning, giggling, acting like they always had. 

Hidden, concealed with the ordinary humans, special-

_Unique_

_"One of us"_ Jim felt iridescent wings coming out of his back, and with a last look at the detective standing over his dead body, he smiled and joined his kin. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all liked this weird little thing!  
> Tell me what you thought in the comments :)


End file.
